


A Talent for Mayhem

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Chemistry lesson in Mayhem, Corycides is the genius who renamed my ship, F/M, I ship it so deal, Mayhem is what we're calling the Riles ship now, Oral Sex, Smut, all the sex, spoilers 2.01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel is a great cat stalking her prey. (Hint: it's Miles' weenie.) There is angst and there is sex, because that's how this ship floats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Talent for Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valantha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/gifts).



> Takes place (loosey goosey) in season two episode one sometime between Miles getting his hand sewn up and him getting taken by those warlord dudes. References a conversation between Gene and Miles that didn't actually occur in the ep, though.
> 
> Here, V: have some long-form porn. Mayhem loves you back.

She probably shouldn’t – _definitely_ shouldn’t – but it’s like she can smell that slightly feral, whiskey-river scent all the way from her room, and she’s drifting here on its essence. Ridiculous. It’s just what she wants – that is all. She’s lonely and fragile, and hell, she barely knows herself anymore. But _he_ does. Or at least, he remembers her from before and might be able to guide her back to herself.

She knocks softly but only waits for the slightest grunt before entering. She doesn’t care if he’s decent, and she doesn’t want to give him the chance to mobilize and object. He’s lying on the bed bare-chested in faded gray boxers, caught halfway between propelling himself toward the intruder and a groggy reluctance to move. 

“Rachel."

“Hey.” Hard not to feel silly now that she’s here. She who once summoned great powers of persuasion over this man fears that she won’t be able to think of a single reason he should let her into his bed.

“What’s up?” he asks with a sleepier softness to his voice. He tries to be gentle with her these days. She can tell.

So now it’s her turn. _Say something brain: something good._

“I need this,” slips unbidden from her lips. Even she is horrified by how pathetic, demanding, and lurid it is all at once.

Miles only slightly inclines his head and settles deeper into the mattress. He manages to exude his typical collected arrogance despite threadbare cotton shorts being his only barrier from complete exposure. It’s the most of him she’s seen in many years – close to two decades. The hair that lines his chest is lightening ever so slightly to mirror the gray at his temples. He’s far leaner than the built days of his youth as a Marine. He’s all sinews, veins, scars.

Miles is not what you’d call a verbal communicator, so at times like these (when you’ve said something very important but the man’s gone terrifyingly mute) sometimes it helps to force the situation. Rachel floats to his side like a shade and forces her fingers to entangle into his. This only has the effect of making him stare at the sudden point of contact. He’s not resisting, exactly, but neither does she feel return pressure from the calloused fingers. She runs her fingertip near the new scar from the “apple” accident her father sewed up. He winces. So: not a scar yet.

“Sorry,” she offers. She might scream if he doesn’t say something soon. Her feet feel magnetized to the ground. Fine. If this is what it takes, she’ll do it. She’s more willful than he is. She always wins. It makes her a little sick, but she _always_ wins. “I overheard what you said to my father.”

“And what was that?” A response now, at least, low, rumbling in his chest. 

“Dad said he loves me and just wants to keep me safe…and _you_ said you felt the same.”

Miles’ bottomless eyes shift to bore into hers. He may not have her resolve, but he can play. “Thought it was clear. I’ve done enough of leaving you to the wolves.” The chocolate irises appear to flicker with the candlelight. She never knows what he’s thinking when his past imprisonment of her hangs between them.

“Both parts?” she asks to clarify - the saving _and_ the loving, that is. She doesn’t care to talk about the harm he’s done her. She’s here to fuck him.

“You want me to say it?”  

He can be alarmingly direct. Suddenly, she can’t breath. No, she does not want to hear the L word. She tries to extract her fingers, but now of all moments, he’s decided to lock her into his grasp.

“I just want you to let me in your bed, Miles.” 

“And what’s the price this time?” His lips barely expel the cold words before he looks remiss. It would have been a fair question at a different point in their lives. Once upon a time, she had fucked him, let him fall for her, and then married his brother. But since then, they’d cuckolded Ben; she’d suffered as Miles’ prisoner – chained to chairs, psychologically prodded, his graceful fingers crushing her windpipe, gripping her thighs, and once thrusting her head into ice water when he couldn't break her; and then whatever _this_ is they’ve been doing for the past six months – playing chicken around “her crazy” as Miles has termed it. So no. He has no right to bargain.

Miles has learned how to apologize in their interim hell, it seems: “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ve no right,” he sighs.

Then, because she _can_ – because she’s smarter than him – she spars, “After all this time, you’re still hurt I picked him.”

She can’t tell if the flash of black in his eyes is anger or jealousy, but he pulls her abruptly on top of him – her tanktop and loose pants a thin partition from his hot skin. He grasps her chin and just kisses her lips, whispering, “Always.” 

Shit. Honest now too. Charlie’s influence? It doesn’t matter. He’s hard under her thighs, and that’s what she wanted in the first place. Why she’s here. Stop thinking – let him consume you. It’s what he does best.

His rough fingers are running down her spine to the hem of her shirt and pulling up, unhooking bra, yanking. Her breasts tumble onto the hard muscles of his chest. He eyes her, lightly plunking his head against the pillow, as if to say, _Fuck, I’ve missed those._ A smiles creeps to the corners of her mouth. He forces her down into his lips again, this time shifting her face sideways for a deeper kiss. There’s a lot she loved about fucking Miles, and the way he kisses is just the beginning. He’s not one of those men who jams his tongue down your throat like an oversized slug. He sucks her bottom lip and uses his tongue sparingly. He saves it for what matters. And _that_ is what she really misses about fucking Miles.

He appears to read her mind and flips her roughly onto the mattress, pressing her arms to either side and taking in her face. Bad things happen when they’re together – _fine_. But this? In the realm of passion, they’re perfect for each other. He’s got her pants and panties off and air is rushing onto her unshorn nethers. Gone are the days of personal grooming. Unlike her husband, Miles will always be a lover, and she’ll always retain that vulnerable shyness with him. 

“Uh,” he grunts at the sight of her, and it sounds like approval, so she bites her lip and lets him do what he’s good at. Besides killing, of course. Actually, Miles isn’t good at many things – it’s just his few impressive skills haven’t gone out of style in the post-Blackout world.

“Oh!” she gasps involuntarily when his lips hit vulva. He licks down her folds and tongues at the entrance to her vagina, before drifting back to suck on her clit. Miles doesn’t always ask what you want, and Rachel likes it even though it might appear discourteous. It enables her to surrender when her mind is her own worst enemy. Ben was so hesitant, as if she were somehow fragile. Miles goes right ahead and crams two fingers in her, as he vigorously eats her out; she can no longer think. She might be bucking wildly into his face, but the only reason she’s even the slightest bit aware she's gone savage is he’s using his free hand to press her left hip firmly into the bed.

“Jesus, Miles!” she spasms from the soles of her feet up her legs and deep into her uterus. An amazing fucking orgasm – like she hasn’t come in years.

He kisses her clit once more and collapses on the pillow next to her, taking her hand and rubbing it against his chest. She likes that about him too – that he'll take what he wants. Doesn’t bother asking. His boxers form an odd shaped tent as his boner strains angrily against its confines.

Blowing Miles used to minorly intimidate her – he’s big and he doesn’t exactly provide verbal feedback – but she’s changed a lot since they last did it, and she finds she’s eager to give it a fresh go. She trails her lips down his furline and dispenses with the boxers. The cock springs roughly into her nose, and they both briefly laugh.

“Rookie mistake,” Miles challenges.

“It _has_ been awhile. But I think in a moment you’ll want to take that assessment back.” Rachel’s got game. She's not about to let him guess her trepidation. She relaxes her lips and takes up his head.

His sparkling eyes watch her do it, and then he gently splats back on the pillow. “Fuck,” he whispers.

That’s all she needed to hear. She fills her mouth with him and grabs the base of his dick to give him a proper wringing. His hand falls on her head and tangles in her hair. She gets lost in her work for a few minutes before looking up to check on her progress. He’s closed his eyes – his tongue caught between his lips. He’s obviously trying to keep his thrusting under control, but he’s losing it. All of a sudden, she can’t decide which she wants more – him to give it up in her mouth or to feel him inside her again.

He doesn’t let her choose – pushes her off.

“Ok, Rache. Ok. _Fuck_. I haven’t done that in a long time either.” 

She stradles his lap, sliding her swollen, wet folds along his extraordinarily hard cock, pressing it into his stomach.

“So? Verdict?” she inquires, merrily popping him into her vagina. They both gasp at that. There’s something hard to describe about this aspect of their connection. It’s meaningful only to them. 

“You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Hm. Good. It can be hard to tell – you don’t say much.”

Miles puts his hands on Rachel’s hips and begins to rock inside her. He rasps, “This is my favorite place to be in the whole world.” 

It almost aches when Miles gets vulnerable - he's so raw, naïve. She fucks him hard in case he panics. He moves the blunt of his thumb onto her nub, and she jams forcefully against it. It sucks that he can’t come in her. Her dad probably has condoms, but she didn’t have enough prescience to hunt one down. Pulling out is for pornos – it’s just not as satisfying an end.

Miles’ face is straining in a manner that suggests she'd better come soon, or she’ll lose her chance for a twofer. She crams herself wildly into him, and her vagina melts into spasms, pulling him in even deeper. At some point, Miles has made the wise choice to violently compress the base of his dick with his fingers; he’s gone completely still and is probably thinking of cold showers and baseball. He’s biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes with all his might. He cracks one open to look at her under a glorious dark eyebrow. She laughs at him.

“You ok, Miles?”

“I really fucking miss birth control.” 

“Yeah. Me too,” she giggles and snorts. She and Charlie both snort when they laugh. What can she say? It’s not her sexiest trait.

Miles seems to like it though and smiles at her. “Uh, Rachel? Let me the fuck out!” he bellows, and she dutifully slips him out.

She licks both of her hands and takes up his dick, yanking upward on its shaft.

“Uh, harder, goddammit!” he demands impatiently, and he looks so cross about it, she really loses herself to giggles.

He enwraps her hands with his and forces her to brutalize his poor dick, which looks pink enough to be burned. He comes in quick, violence spasms onto his stomach and it drips down their fingers. Come is so peculiarly warm, it almost feels soft. Damn, she'd missed the way his face looks when he loses himself - mouth fallen open, eyes clamped shut, sweat dripping down his temples. Utterly hot. 

“Remember how you initially objected to this?” she prods.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“And you swear like a sailor,” she accuses, squeezing his chin and leaning forward to kiss him on the lips.

“I swear like a _Marine_.”

“Whatever,” she shrugs - an old joke - and settles her cheek on his chest, dragging one nail across his nipple. He shivers in an aftershock of his orgasm. “I don’t know, Miles. Why deprive ourselves? We’re good at this.” 

“I know. That’s what scares me.”


End file.
